


I'll wait for you

by orphan_account



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Original Character(s), Slow Burn, there's a whole lot more i'm just hoping you get the feeling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-05-20 10:05:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19374502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It wasn't as much a promise as it was an omen, a good one. Max had always been a wild, restless soul, constantly moving on with persistence and crazy speed to boot, and yet Tiago never felt like he was being left behind. While he always had to look up to his greatest rival, the lion never looked down on him. They had always wanted to have the other beside them, on-track or otherwise.





	1. happy to see you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( speech or thought in square brackets stand for those in the native language of the character )

   

 

      Track day. For the first time in what felt like forever, despite testing having been only weeks ago. A chance to impress it was, the first time looking down the circuit from a single seater ever since Helmut Marko approached him and his agent with what felt like a love letter, addressed to him and him only, _Tiago Rafael Falcão_. The thought of it still gave him goosebumps, finally moving on to Formula racing, doing it in Red Bull’s name, all the support he would need and more. His very own golden passport to Formula 1. As he left the van outside the circuit with some of his team, he still felt it. He was itching to get started, the smell of rubber, fuel, perfectly trimmed grass and trees all settling in like that of a flower would, distant chatter and the wind brushing against leaves sent his hearing on a trip of its own, taking in one large breath. He knew the gig: debriefing, track walk, step into the car, put in some laps, work around the issues, put in some better laps, qualify ahead of everyone and leave them in the dust on the first lap. Of course, reality wasn’t like that, but things would come around as long as he kept his head down and his elbows out. That was all the place he stood in, Imola, demanded of him. And driving for Prema Powerteam, with the Red Bull Junior Academy’s backing, performing well in the Formula Renault 2.0 Alps Series was certain if he kept himself leveled out.

      Even now it was the challenge that thrilled him, reminiscing the feeling of climbing out of the kart knowing he had bested all other drivers and left everyone who doubted him staring at their feet. Every other kid on the track with him could say the same all the way to the KZ1 category, save for one Verstappen, who won both the European and World KZ championships in 2013. Some knew him for his last name but everyone who had seen him race knew he was more _Max_ than anything else. He carried a diligence to the field and a certainty of victory unmatched, like he was born into it. Even if it was a close race, upon shaking hands the detachment as fellow drivers was palpable. Max was a cut above every other teen going down that same path and they all knew it. Yet Tiago had always felt a respect between them and their handshakes took a second too long even if only to say _keep up_ through shut lips. He had no idea where Max ended up after that crazy year spent amidst bubbling rivalries and the stench of fuel.

      Those memories built in karting were nice ones, though he never gave them much thought over the years. At some point, he gave up trying to play buddy with the other kids, intent on being no more than rivals. Tiago knew what he was there for: impressing all the right people, moving up and never falling down, knowing the world would never wait for him to get back up. The sacrifice still pained him; having come face-to-face with his sexuality and initially turning away, the teen chose to embrace it, on the condition that he kept it as far away from his calling as could be. And so, he made up his very own ruleset, one he had to keep in order to stay afloat in the racing world.

_[1 – never get involved with anyone on the paddock]_

_[1.a – or get interested in them]_

_[2 – keep your sexuality and your relationships away from your career]_

_[3 – be private. you’re a lone wolf now]_

      He knew forsaking this adage spelt the end of his career. It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t fair. But if anything, the price he was willing to pay proved he was fully devoted to his bid to rise to the top. Tiago knew what he had to do: head down, elbows out and everything would fall in place.

 

* * *

 

      And fall in place they were, for starters. From the season-opener in April and throughout the first three race weekends until June, he was locked in a title fight with Nyck, having pulled off a double win in Spielberg to get a lead he would hopefully be able to keep. Encouragement came in the form of Helmut’s praise (as much as he could get, anyway), to the extent that just after acing the Red Bull Ring weekend he got a call from his agent, telling him the Red Bull Racing consultant had arranged him a practice session for Prema in the F3 Euro Championship in Belgium, two weekends after his own races in the same iconic track.

      As soon as Tiago got the news, he swung his fist upwards in triumph, biting his lip so the excitement wouldn’t spill over the phone call, eventually ceding and earning laughter from his partner, ending the call on a cheerful note. He knew he had to tell his parents later and call Helmut ASAP to thank the man. It wasn’t easy, competing at that level, and he was confident that some of the other drivers would pick up the pace heading into the later stages of the season, but damn if it wasn’t worth it. The thought still settled on his mind. Having returned from Austria yesterday, he fell back on his bed, turned to the ceiling with his feet still on the floor, the near-summer breeze from the open window clashing against his rose cheeks.

_[formula 3 huh]_

_[what if]_

      He sat up and turned the phone back to him, frantically opening the web browser and tapping away at the screen until he got to where he wanted. _Bingo_. There it was: the teams and drivers for the 2014 FIA Formula 3 European Championship. He looked over them, running through familiar names like a shopping list:

_Esteban, Tatiana, Nicholas, Antonio, Antonio again, Lucas, Jordan-_

      His heart skipped a beat, forcing him to stop and reread the name _Max Verstappen – Van Amersfoort Racing_.

      “[There you are.]” a coy smirk formed on his mouth as he said it, not caring for anyone else while switching to the results tab.

      Unsurprisingly, Max, so far, was on a series of highs and lows, retiring or not even starting in five of the first nine races, a win and two other podiums filling most of the gaps. The results his teammates had made it clear how well he was actually performing. Mixed feelings swept through him when he saw that Prema was leading the charge, Esteban Ocon only failing once to make it to the podium, finishing every race in the points. A delicious heat seeped around his body as he realized all the things that would go down come June.

      Now his week off in Lisbon felt like a liability. He didn’t want to go out with friends or check into the modeling session tomorrow or even catch up with his parents. He was impatient, eager to get on with racing. Time couldn’t go fast enough. He wanted to be in Belgium _now_.

      He put his phone back in his pocket, walking over to his sim rig and setting down the curtains on the way, turning on his computer and getting ready to get onto the track he was racing in next week. Suddenly it felt like his own championship didn’t matter as much, confident he could continue to lead without much struggle. It was only a practice session, an opportunity to strap into a Dallara F3 car and put on some good times. Maybe it’s because it was the Spa-Francorchamps circuit, a place he had always wanted to drive in a Formula racing machine, that he was so excited about this. Maybe it’s because he was about to drive another single seater for the first time. And maybe it’s because it was just a chance to catch up to his biggest rival. It didn’t matter. All of it sent sparks around his body. The three screens lit his face to brilliance. Helmut could manage without him calling immediately to thank for the opportunity.

 

* * *

 

      Before he knew it, it was Thursday for the fourth time. Having touched down on Belgium the day before, he was already on the paddock and briefing with his team had just ended. He would be driving the car numbered _26_ , whose driver was absent for the weekend, and had just gone over all the technicalities of the car with his mechanics and some of the drivers. It was a familiar view, walking outside with the late morning sun crashing down on him, having done the exact same thing two weeks prior, only this time he was speaking to Dennis’ race engineer rather than his own while the rest of the team was mostly familiar. Winning in that circuit, especially as a rookie, still gave him joy; overtakes on the Kemmel Straight, the back chicane and the first corner all to his name. Spa-Francorchamps was way better than he had anticipated.

      He was standing outside the garage, waiting for the rest of the team to wrap up for their track walk when he felt a hand on his shoulder, immediately turning to the new heat. Max now stood in front of him, shy enough not to try to get his attention by talking but blunt enough to simply tap him. _Typical_. Did Max recognize him by the back of his head? Tiago wasn’t sure. He had kept his hair in the same parted, faded undercut style as before so it was likely. Max had an adorably guarded look on him, not knowing fully what to expect. Tiago _allowed_ his eyes to wander over his already large neck, noting how ridiculous it must look to people who haven’t seen him since his puberty started. He could tell Max was also vaguely inspecting him. They exchanged their own _fuck I’m happy to see you “Hi”_ before a silence fell over them.

      “You seriously haven’t had to shave yet?”

      “Fuck you.” laughter infected the air around them while the broken ice separating them melted. As it settled down, Tiago saw Max was looking tentatively at him with his lips only slightly parted. He had something to ask. His nod was nearly untraceable, giving Max the go-ahead. It still felt unique, the way they learned to communicate like this only due to their English being awful when they first met in karting.

      “What… are you doing here?” to his credit, Tiago wasn’t wearing all-Prema apparatus. He did appreciate his effort to avoid making the question seem offensive or thoughtless, trying to show it by pulling a small smile.

      “I’m testing tomorrow, stepping in for Dennis.” he pointed his thumb to the garage behind his back, seeing Max’s brows furrow at the red team. “Yeah, I’m driving for them in Formula Renault two-liters. Helmut got me here too.” Max gave him a questioning look.

      “Don’t tell me the first corner you’re doing in a Dallara after leaving the pits is Eau Rouge.” somehow the concern in his voice swam perfectly with the humor, slightly dragging his lower lip with thumb. He was impossibly genuine sometimes.

      “Yes. _But_ I raced here two weeks ago.” Max looked like he had been slapped. This one was going to hurt. “And _won_.” to which he groaned loudly, earning Tiago’s laughter.

      “Seriously? You raced and won in _my_ home course before I did?” he truly sounded upset over one of his rivals having managed that. “Now I have to win every race here.” there was a pinch of severity to his voice, to which Tiago tilted his head, curious.

      “Oh? Do you really? _Are_ you really?” the intense gaze Max shot at him mirrored his own, and although Tiago could only guess at how serious he was, he was intent on pushing Max further, refusing to look away.

      “I am. _Watch me_.” they stood like that for a while, the air around them smelling of challenge. Tiago loathed not having the chance to race him on Saturday and Sunday, but it was fine. As long as they got to meet on the top step, sooner or later, it would be fine. He adored having to look up at (and to) Max, knowing he had to make up for his overwhelming talent by being persistent. Their eyes screamed competition, but their mouths curled into soft-looking smiles.

      “Only a shame I won’t have the best seats in the house.”

_…_

_god_

      That completely broke any tension between them, forcing them to chuckle and snort until Tiago was called in by his team. As he turned, Max punched him on the shoulder with just the right force to get every little thing he wanted to say across without talking. Tiago looked back, meeting his eyes and tracing fake hurt over his own. He returned Max’s smile, nodding an invisible _happy to be here_ to him before going back to his team, now gathered outside the garage.

      Their encounters always felt like this, an endless encouragement of competition and forwardness. It only felt natural. He didn’t dare believe Max would win all three races, but he let it fall into his expectations. It was like a promise, what Max had told him, as if he had been caught in a spell and couldn’t help but _watch_. He felt thrilled to still see that confidence in him. All this and he still had to drive a Formula 3 car for the first time tomorrow. Even that seemed to pale in comparison to Max’s ordeal now.

      Tiago wasn’t going to ignore his request. He wanted to be there too. _No matter how it turned out._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is my first time publishing a fanfic, already having most of it planned out and written other scenes as drafts, so it should be no surprise that I am quite nervous and so any form of feedback would be appreciated!
> 
> Don't expect consistent updates as I do not intend to rush this at all.
> 
> In case you didn't know, Max did win all 3 races in Belgium, and in the next race weekend he did it again. I'm serious.


	2. expectations

     

      True racing was all Tiago’s eyes captured that weekend. He could have left on Friday, but he wasn’t going to miss any of it. In the end, he was glad he didn’t, bearing witness to Verstappen sweeping all three races, none of which he won from pole. They didn’t get the chance to really talk between them and on Sunday, in all the attention Max got the best he could do was show him an ear-to-ear smile in passing. Tiago flew back home that night still somewhat struck by the magnitude of it, but he knew what to take away from the whole weekend. He had to continue to perform. To keep up.

      Helmut called him late into Friday. Tiago's one practice session had gone well, and his words reflected it. He told him what he already knew: _take it weekend by weekend, continue leading your current series and you’ll hear good things from me_. The simplest approach was always the best. Monza was next and Tiago knew what to expect. As long as he didn’t grow complacent, winning was well within his expectations. On the plane to Italy he fell asleep thinking of Max.

      What he saw then were only memories, typically drowned out by his promise to himself, only this time his senses seemed to tunnel vision on Max. _Max, Max Max._ All the way back in their early teen years of karting across Europe he was the competitor he thought most of, his usual banter at any time, his unparalleled focus whenever he stepped on-track. The skies grow darker and the rain wets their race suits, but Tiago can’t feel the waterdrops hit him, he can only see Max’s scared face whenever he doesn’t win and his ears only pick up on his shaky breaths. He feels a heartbeat that isn’t his. A tall man stands behind Max with his arms crossed, casting a large shadow over him. Max breaks under the pressure, initially showing a crack, then shattering like glass, and no one around them sees it. The shadow retreats and takes what is left of him with it. The rain on the concrete below him creates a pond through which he sees Max staring back with the same mildly worried look he had given him so many times over the years while an obnoxious, repetitive sound buzzes above him, casting subtle shades of yellow. He feels a hand pushing lightly at his left shoulder.

      “Sir, please fasten your seatbelt.”

      He immediately looks around for explanation, doing as he was requested instinctively, noting how charming the flight attendant’s English was before flashing a smile at them. He looked past the person on his right to the window, finally seeing land rather than the Mediterranean Sea.

      His eyes continued to stare, admitting to himself how in every dream he has he feels like a bystander. He hasn't once suffered a nightmare harsh enough to make him wake up sweating or trembling, and never has a dream been so sweet it made him clutch his hand over his chest and smile fondly. Mostly he feels like his subconscious only tells him incoherent messages and finds himself grasping at meaning, desperately trying to fall asleep once more to acquire the next piece of the encryption, always disappointed when he is inevitably forced to get on with his day. He wishes he could’ve reached out for the water below him in the dream, or maybe that Max would take him with him instead. Uncertain of the meaning of it all, Tiago simply puts his headphones back on.  

 

* * *

 

      After tossing and turning for minutes he finally gave in, his eyes slowly fluttering open while his vision adapted to the sunlight over his room. Tiago could tell it was late into the morning, indolence from the summer break seeping into his everyday life. He stretched and reached for his phone, the time only confirming his suspicion. Not fully in it yet, he got up and headed over to the kitchen, putting down the visor on a miniature helmet just outside the door to his room. He didn’t care about how he looked at that moment, confident he was by himself in the flat, turning the TV on and leaving it in whatever channel it had been on before.

      His own championship was moving on well enough, keeping a comfortable lead though a new challenger in the form of Charles Leclerc stepped up in Monza, pulling them into tight skirmishes in both races that weekend. It was bothersome but really he wouldn’t have it any other way. He lived for this. The thoughts on his mind opposed the dullness of waiting for the toaster to obnoxiously _DING!_ him back outside of his mind. The real meat of Formula 1 silly season hadn’t yet descended upon the world, the four weeks between Hungary and Belgium so far not delivering. At least as a fellow Red Bull junior he got the news early that Max had joined the family (if one could call it that, anyway). It brought him joy for it meant that Max’s ascension through Formula racing would be considerably streamlined now, regardless of whether they would be directly competing or not.

      While the taste of toast and butter settled on his buds, he checked the phone for updates on Formula 1 and-

      The eyes looking over the screen widened. The television opposite to him seemingly went mute and his heart bottomed. His mind went blank and for a moment he could swear he was-

      Tiago choked. _Hard_. The rude return to reality shook him nearly as much as the news did. Thankfully he didn’t cough out any bits, and immediately after the glass of orange juice next to him was emptied in what seemed like survival instinct. He took a moment to breath away from the moment before reading the headline again:

_Max Verstappen will make Formula 1 debut in 2015 with Scuderia Toro Rosso_

      His head didn’t feel like it was slipping away from his shoulders this time. It was only his brain that seemed to be swimming erratically over the sheer absurdity of it. Max, at sixteen years of age, was a confirmed driver for Formula 1? It was, by all accounts, ridiculous no matter how good of a show he made in the last years.

_is he that good?_

The thought climbed to the front of his cranium, stinging him hard and forcing him to deliberate over it for what felt like no reason. Max’s done a ton of testing over the last year and if winning six races in a row isn’t a statement of natural prowess, Tiago doesn’t know what is.

      He isn’t sure why but now that he’s over the initial shock he feels somewhat dejected over the news. The uncertainty dwelled, not knowing what caused it or why his heart was now caving in, feeling like his whole body was being dragged along. For a moment he’s glad no one besides him is home. He lowers his head, bringing his left hand up to block his eyes with his thumb and index fingers. Suddenly, he was acutely aware of every little syllable and musical note coming through the television opposite to him. The kitchen, as familiar as it had always been, suddenly had a stench to it. The saliva leaking out of his gums tasted of bile, drowning out the leftover orangey sensation.

      A breath forcefully made its way from hot lungs, through his trachea and out of red lips, bringing his head back up, the palms of both hands washing over his face. The exhale brought a knot he wasn’t aware he was holding in his throat to null and void.         

_[come on, you know what you have to do]_

      That was all he needed, a reminder that he was in this fight for one and only one reason: _Formula 1_. If anything, this proved he too had to step it up. He got off the chair, resisting the urge to slam the table and finishing his breakfast. He walked past the mirror in the hallway, stopping to stare for a second. The man staring back was frowning intensely.

      His fists clenched and he went on. It had never been relevant how dramatic he could be as long as it meant he had a focus. The right one, at least.

      Tiago passed the door to his room, taking a moment to heavily glare at the miniature helmet. He sometimes felt as though there were eyes underneath the closed visor that would burn through his skin if he weren’t resolute enough. The familiar routine echoed in his mind once more: head down, elbows out.

      Today is a good day for some workouts.

 

* * *

 

      Fall makes its way to his side of the world, forcing him to wear thicker clothing, finally. Now, Tiago's packing up to fly to Italy for the third time this racing season. He still can’t help but glance at the first-place trophy for the Formula series he just won. By some evil twist of fate, that weekend in Spain occurred in simultaneity with the Formula 1 Japanese Grand Prix, where Max made his debut in a practice session. It was still unreal to think about; Max had turned seventeen not even a full week before that. But that debut's not even what remained on everyone’s memory after that fateful weekend. There is a sorrow he sees reflected across the racing world and it makes him feel confused, doubtful whether he should feel thankful or not over not having seen Charles ever since the Sunday race. Tiago doesn’t know whether he would prefer to make sure the Monégasque was feeling any semblance of alright or just avoid him altogether.

      It was an overwhelming weekend he did everything to get rid of the following morning. Between winning a title, going purple with jealousy (he’s confident there was some pride involved, but he could never admit it) over Max driving a Formula 1 car and doing it in Suzuka and the race accident that left him gaping, it was a lot to go through. All-in-all he just wanted to move on from the sheer insanity and focus on the next thing. His agent helped him smoothly transition his current seat to one at Formula 3 and for the same team. In 2015 he would be competing in the European Championship. The real surprise came in when Team Principal Angelo Rosin called him ahead of the last race weekend to ask him whether he would like to be a guest driver for the last two rounds of the Formula 3 Euro series currently ongoing. Tiago barely gave him time to finish, apologizing immediately after nearly yelling _YES_ through the phone and thanking his boss a hundred times over.

      He made his way outside his room, pulling down the visor on the miniature helmet and invisibly waving goodbye to his home once more. On the ride to the airport and all the way to departure he thinks about what to expect from the weekend and speaks absent-mindedly with his parents about whatever comes up. Once he’s above the clouds he thinks of Max again. He doesn’t know what to say to him but he’s certain he’ll make something up, maybe Max will do him a solid and throw in a curveball like many times before.

 

* * *

 

      It’s impossible to shake off the awkward feeling of being in Imola for the second time this year, only now, a full six months later, Tiago’s in another racing series entirely and as a guest driver. Photos had already been sent his way, but he can’t help but continue to stare at the Dallara marked _13_ on the Prema garage. He would have preferred to make it 12 but the number was already taken, as were 14 and 15. It was a wonder how 13 had been the one left open. _  
_

Tiago was by his lonesome in the garage, mostly. He had already talked with most of his team and now some mechanics were bantering while he stood around his car, trying to capture the perfect angle with which to show off to friends and family the beast he would be driving the whole weekend. Luckily, he didn’t get many questions on his way through the paddock, even though he _did_ win his previous series and was a confirmed driver for Prema next year. All’s good though, he just wanted to get on with the driving, that was always the real talker, even if it only started tomorrow.

      He squatted, feeling his driver tag hanging from his neck, hoping that a simple photo profiling the car starting from a front wheel would be good enough. The phone snapped from that same angle until the one behind it felt any sort of satisfaction.

      “Heard I would find you here.”  quickly getting past the initial shock, Tiago thinks up a witty answer while ignoring the shadow Max has cast over him. If anything, it ruined the lighting. He looked over his shoulder, smirking fiercely. Max had both a Red Bull hoodie and cap, and the tag numbered _30_ fell on his chest naturally. The smile on Max's face shows the vigor of someone who’s driven a Formula 1 car, even if he still had a stupendous baby face.

      “And I heard _someone’s_ been moving up in the world. Surprised you didn’t get eaten up by reporters on the way here.” he gets up as he says the last part, turning to Max and hoping his smile stands up to his. It seems to have worked as now Max is scratching the back of his head in a loss for words.

      Tiago takes the chance and by whichever instinct is telling him to, pulls Max into a weird, one-armed hug, nearly letting his right arm touch his skin while his hand, still holding his phone, reaches between his shoulder blades. He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and feels Max do the same against his hair. The moment is fleeting and he gets back to his original position, noting how natural both of their smiles felt. This felt way better than whatever learning Max had gone up to F1 did to him.

      “Come on, you have to tell me everything.” the request doesn’t settle well with Max, who makes an exasperated sound, bringing his hand over his face, a resounding _not this again_ written all over. This changed when Esteban made his way into the garage, passing next to them with his usual smile. Max heard the steps and upon noticing it was the championship leader, nearly managed to hold back a frown, looking back at Tiago.

      “Walk with me, I already shook off my dad.” Tiago didn’t think twice, immediately extending a guiding hand to his left.

      Both went on their merry way. The Italian sun shone on their backs, they smiled as though they were careless children walking forward, and the world seemed to follow. Once again, Tiago knew it didn’t really matter how far above him Max would be, as long as they got to meet on the top steps once more, sooner or later. Right now, it wasn’t his focus to beat him or even match him, just doing everything he could to keep improving. If there was anything he could say he was blessed with, it would be persistence. It would see him through, he was sure. He had a title with which to show that off now, too.

      “So, what’s the STR like? And Suzuka?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep looking at the results and standings tab on the wiki page for this championship and I have no idea how grid orders for race starts are supposed to work. The ones in F2 are already messy enough between the Feature and Sprint races, why is F3 so confusing? 
> 
> Anyway I really love Max. Speaking of which, Austria last week made me go nuts.
> 
> Thank you for your enduring support, no matter in what form!


	3. you don't have to say it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been edited majorly hours after original upload.  
> Rereading not necessary but recommended for consistency purposes.

     

      They talk of single seater machines and a particular racetrack in Japan, doing their best not to speak of the race there. The conversation swings between the series both find themselves in, although in contrasting positions, and the one that Tiago just won. The circuit they find themselves in doesn’t escape their deliberations, Tiago taking the chance to give Max _some_ advice regarding the place, including the horrendous downhill braking zone in the final sector. They stop ahead of the Van Amersfoort garage, Jos interrupting his conversation with mechanics to glance at them, furrowing his brows. Max immediately had that _here we go again_ look on his face when he rolled his eyes away from his father’s sight and they said their goodbyes.

      Only once they separated, Tiago felt something pulsing all over his skin, as if begging to jump out. It had become a familiar feeling starting in his years in karting and it ate away at him. Ever since he tried shutting himself from the world it got worse, but he dealt with it fine enough. Every time he and Max have to say goodbye, literally or otherwise, he hopes that Max doesn’t give him the same look they exchanged so often in karting, worry traced over their faces. He isn’t sure where or how it started, but at some point, it felt like they watched each other’s backs and expressed that in their own little ways, words to be spoken instead left to the imagination. However, while Max has a stern father who had implanted in him a fierce belief in unforgiving rivalries, Tiago eventually willed himself into discarding much of his sentimentality, turning his focus fully into his goals. When his newfound attitude clashed with Max’s and many of the other competitors’ innate spirit of rivalry, it created a rift between him and all of them.

      It was natural. That was who he had always been: a kid who found an appetite for competition so deep it alienated him from even his parents, who, despite all their continuous support, could never relate to him like that, to the point that early in his international karting stints they stopped traveling with him, instead being accompanied by an agent they paid good money to follow him around early into his life. He never bothered resenting them for any of it, for it never felt wrong. He wasn’t a bad guy either, and the lines between business and fatherhood with him often weren’t as clear as he expected.

      But it didn’t matter. Early on, he figured he would always be an outsider. Tiago sometimes wished it was easier but whenever he did, he silently mouthed his very own sacred ruleset at himself. What really mattered was performing, and he understood that. Head down, elbows out, and everything would fall in place.

 

* * *

 

      The feeling persists throughout the next days, only going away fully when the adrenaline from being inside the car threatens to take over his body. A few spins in practice and a good qualifying session (when compared to that of the other guest drivers, anyway) line up his Friday, not letting much else bounce around his head and taking all the advice he can from people around him. Even then he mulls over how perfectly Prema merged their typical Italian design with his part in the Red Bull program to make a livery that was so satisfying to look at. It works out in the first race too, Tiago managing to climb a few places amidst the inevitable chaos of every junior Formula race to finish just outside of the top ten. It would be relevant were he eligible for points at all. He’s just happy to perform and get ready for next year.

      Now he finds himself roaming the edge of the paddock, GT supercars lining up the garages around him. God knows his team’s is far too crowded after Esteban took the victory, so he just resigned into walking elsewhere after doing all the post-race talks he had to. What he didn’t expect was that Max apparently had the same thought, finding him sitting on a bench in a corner. He doesn’t look any sort of defeated or dejected, just contemplative. He was always the calm type, even when things didn’t go his way, which was the case. Tiago had started behind him and could tell he was getting away with even more overtakes until he unceremoniously passed him while he limped through the Rivazza gravel pit trying to rejoin the track safely. He figured out what had happened when he was told that a driver ahead of him had been given a drive-through penalty and he ultimately finished ahead of Max.

      Tiago realizes he’s been staring at him from behind, seemingly doing nothing on his phone, and settles on it.

      “You by yourself, Max?” he doesn’t answer, looking up at him from his shoulder, not showing any sign of protest as he looks back down. Tiago sighs and sits on his left side, bringing his left leg up and laying his back over the bench, picking away at the details around them.

      They stay like that for a while, the midday sunlight threatening to torch them. By some virtue, while Tiago has already changed to casual Red Bull wear, Max is still in his race suit. Whatever silence there could be between them is engulfed by background chatter, mechanical works, the occasional notification blast from either phone and unanswered questions. Even so, Tiago doesn’t feel anywhere near out of place. Every now and then he glances at Max through the corner of his eyes and, judging by his unchanging expression, he likely feels the same way.

      “You know…” Max starts, looking upward with his elbows still on his legs, continuing when he felt Tiago looking at him attentively. “Before I signed the contract for next year, dad asked me if I was sure. When Helmut told him that was what they wanted to go for with me, he went crazy with pride. I did too, obviously, but it wasn’t a big surprise.” Tiago furrows his brows reflexively.

_why is he telling me this. why should I care how Jos feels about it_

_why should he care, even_

_Max… don’t tell me you_

      “It was that feeling, you know? Like all those years were worth it. Every time I had to leave mum and Vic, every time I had to sleep in a van, every time he-“ the word is tripped over, and Max doesn't go any further, looking back down at his hands and sighing. Tiago hates it. He knows better than bringing up the topic of his father (God knows what happened when he tried it), but the fear in Max’s eyes always strike through his own. Not much he can do when it’s him who haphazardly brings it up himself too. Instead, he just moves a hand over his shoulder and shakes him lightly, earning a chuckle and a trying smile from Max. There was silence between them, a rejuvenating one at which they take a deep breath.

      “It sucks, being the youngest one going anywhere, but it’s always been like that.” it's a talking point Tiago would prefer not going any further on, raising an eyebrow and furrowing the other.

      “I’m only months older than you, remember?” Max looks at him, the familiar blush covering his face as he stifles his laughter.

      “I don’t see you in Formula 1.”

      “Okay, now you’re just messing with me!“ the words were spoken as he lunged at Max, who already knew what was coming, barely managing to yell “No!” while laughing and holding his arms in a defensive position between him and Tiago. He pushed at Max through his wrists, finding little resistance between his precarious position and him still having a phone on his right hand. Both giggled endlessly at the petty squabble, Tiago jokingly demanding for an apology between the gaps until Max gave in, shouting something about Tiago winning, letting him pin him down, resulting in his hat falling from its place. Tiago ended up on top of Max, nearly sitting on his stomach, right foot between Max’s legs while the other stood on the floor. Their rushed breaths come and go as they continue to look into the other’s eyes and Tiago felt the heat climb through his neck and his cheeks all the way to his ears. His mind overrides everything else when he realizes the position they’re in and he lets go of Max’s wrists, getting up next to him and throwing in a smug huff for good measure.

      “We should go, Q2 is in two hours.”

      “You eat anything yet?” sounded off from Tiago, picking up Max’s hat and brushing at the side that fell to the floor.

      “Nope.” that had earned him a sound of mock disapproval from him, and Max pointlessly fixed his hair with his hand, letting Tiago place his hat in its usual position when he was done.

      As Tiago detaches his hand from its tip, he feels it again, his veins threatening to burst out of his body with each heartbeat, urging him to act. Understanding dawns upon him when he realizes he’s been doing everything he can to avoid the subject of Max rising to the top and what it will make of them, even in his mind. He loathes the feeling, hates himself for feeling any sort of attachment to the time he and Max have between them. From the moment he read about Max moving up, he felt he was being left behind, though he would never allow himself to think of it that way, much less voice the sentiment.

      Max watches him slowly move his arm from just above his forehead to his side. Tiago only realizes he’s pulling a hurtful expression when Max looks at him like a riddle, face soon matching his. He allows himself to drown in the moment completely, looking over every little detail on Max’s face, over which the cap casts a shadow reaching no lower than his nose. How his mouth fell to a longing curl, how his cheeks settle outwards, still red, as were his nose and the top of his ears. Even now he could make out the wet skin on the top of his forehead, sweat from the race and their quarrel not quite gone. His eyebrows, same as ever, look sharp, but his deep, blue eyes lie to no one, bigger than he’s seen them in a long time.

      “Tiago?” the voice that slipped through his lips is impossibly tender, like he was lulling him to sleep. Tiago swallows, eyes and brows nodding by themselves, asking Max to continue, who pulled a slight, soft smile.

      “I’ll miss moments like these, too.”

      The moment is bittersweet, and it brings a small laugh to Tiago. He wishes he could stop time in this instant, disappointed he will instead be forced to hold it close to him in memory as he looks away from Max, who chuckles at the display. When he looks back at Max, he sees he has his trademark smile on his rose lips, cheeks threatening to eat his eyes. Delight washes over him, reveling in how Max managed to uplift him in such a moment. At another time, he would be unsettled to learn that he felt the same way, but he had already committed to this instance.

      Tiago resolves to simply not allow the feeling to fester. It insulted him, just as much as it did Max. He wasn't being left behind, it was only up to him to catch up. Even if Max would be going away, it simply meant he had to _keep up_. It's what he would say, too. Confidence colors the blush in his cheeks when he thinks over it again.

      _Max would never hurt me_

      “Come on, we still have tomorrow, and Germany!” Tiago motioned behind Max as he said it, the newfound mood bringing them forward and back into the paddock.

      It had always been that way between them. Even if the world was cruel, even when people they love would hurt them, they had the other watching over, even if it wasn’t always welcome. And when they would surprise each other like this, or whenever they climbed the podium steps, it felt like they alone belonged at the top of the world. Tiago would truly find it easier to be able to go through this phase of his life focusing fully on racing, but it’s in these moments he’s happy to have found a friendship that has seen them through so much.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter chapter but I really liked how I managed to create such an up-and-down moment and really wanted to end it that way. Earlier update too so it's a win-win!
> 
> I am loving the feedback this is generating so I'm hoping I can keep it up!
> 
> On a side note, I finally figured out how F3 race weekends worked back when they had 3 races! It's as messy as it seems.


	4. all or nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: domestic abuse
> 
> Also, the chapter prior to this one was edited majorly hours after original upload. Rereading not necessary but recommended for consistency purposes.

     

      When the high from Saturday fell off and the sun rose over San Marino once more, Tiago still felt as though whatever happened between him and Max actually didn’t. Despite remembering it like it was yesterday (and it was, go figure), the memory felt distant, as if the night had slapped him back into some cruel reality while he was away from his body. Once his gaze met Max’s early in the morning, the guilt finally seeped in, the awareness that he too would be torn up by his departure lingering. At that moment, Tiago only throws him a grin and a peace sign, Max returning his own wide smile.

      At the end of the day, Max is easily the standout driver, charging through the top half of the grid to finish second in Race 2 and winning from pole later on. Tiago had to content himself with would-be point finishes and, understandably, being on the receiving end of every team order. Esteban clinches both rookie and driver titles and with all the chaos celebrating both him and Max and the team debrief he only finds himself relaxing on his way back to the airport, _about time_. Once he’s up in the sky, nowhere near paying attention to whatever movie’s playing ahead of him, his mind drifts back to Max and the predicament they find themselves in, more specifically what exactly it’s doing to Tiago.

      He went into junior Formula expecting himself to be firm and unchanging in his attitude towards others, but Max made part of him want to _claw_ his way out of it, and now he’s just confused. Tiago can feel himself trying to break down that wall and look anywhere rather than downwards but he doesn’t know what to expect. Max had always been an exception when it came to his composure, but he’s oblivious as to how or what even managed to flip the last half year, as well as his perception of his friend, on their head so profusely. Before he knew it, whenever his mind wasn’t focused on racing or studying, it would eventually make its way back around to Max, and it scared him.

   _[what difference would it make?]_

_[I already made up my mind]_

_[I’m racing hard to get to F1 and fuck the rest]_

_[I only have myself to outdo now that Max is going away]_

      And there it was again, the knot that first formed in his stomach when he read he would be moving on to F1. Its unwelcome presence made itself known whenever Tiago thought about it and while he had an inkling as to what was the reason behind it, he could never settle on _why_. Even as a kid, he had always been told he was one to miss the forest for the trees, but that was what he was like, picking at the details, restless until he got things right. Sometimes it helped him, otherwise it was excruciating. This time, it was easily the latter. He had already denied he felt he was being left behind and it never stroke that way again. It could very well be that Tiago felt he couldn’t make it to F1, but those were doubts he shut many times, especially when it was other people who cast them over him. In a similar vein, he knew he wasn’t comparing himself to Max as he always knew it was pointless.

      Maybe he _does_ know why, but it’s just out of reach.

 

* * *

 

      Arriving in Hockenheim, it feels like the race weekend by itself is inconsequential. Both rookie and driver titles have been decided, and even for Tiago himself, he’s only here to get more experience with the car. That’s not to say he plans on taking it easy, but rather that there is something bigger lurking in his mind. He knows it’s Max and still hasn’t decided what to do with whatever’s eating away at him from inside. Because he’s aware his buddy feels the same way, to some extent, he isn’t sure what it’s best to do, intent on simply letting him take the lead and see where it ends up.

      When their gazes inevitably meet the first time, there is an odd anticipation in the air between them. Tiago didn’t know what to expect but it was like Max was looking out for something in him as well, nervously inspecting his body language. The moment is fleeting, and both get back to whatever they were in the process of doing. Their one talk that Thursday was centered on the track and what to expect. At some point, the conversation broke off into awkward silence and they walked unceremoniously, casting glances at each other that Max would immediately break off. Through every moment of it he could tell every fiber in his body was begging him to do something, _anything_. When they left for their team’s garage it felt like _shit_. Tiago never felt so closed off from him. Nothing could make up for all the words they were leaving unspoken, and it didn’t help not knowing half of what those were.

      He sighed loudly as he stepped into his team’s space, ignoring the curious glimpses that that had earned him from some of the people close by as it settled in his mind that, truly, Sunday was going to hurt, and not just for him. As the briefing went on and his concentration began to waver, it fell upon him that Max, acting like he was, _knew_ something he didn’t. He didn’t flirt with the idea or wonder at what he was trying to tell him, or _avoid_ telling him, instead letting it dissipate into his subconscious.

      All of this, a Friday through which they didn’t talk at all, and a first race in which Max led every lap to win while Tiago profited off of a chaotic first lap to catapult his way through the order to finish high up in the points, meant they suddenly found themselves unwinding from the race, walking around the paddock and ignoring every other thing going by them. Whatever adrenaline they were still carrying around from the race nearly rubbed off on the other as the chat went from Tiago’s thriller of a race to all the moves they enjoyed pulling on their opponents and other moments from the racing season so far. Their shoulders, still hot beneath the race suit from the race, occasionally bumped together, but they didn’t care. The moment was for theirs to seize while they could, fuck the world.

      They stop by a corner, something about the mess that was Max’s race weekend in Moscow leading to enough laughter to leave them gasping for air. By the time they come back from their fit, they’re leaned against the same wall, breath slowly easing.

      “Hey, Tiago?” the voice is soft once more. He doesn’t know what to expect, but the way Max looks at him, vague fascination filling his face, is familiar. Neither of them would admit it, but he had been that way around Tiago for years now. He did his best to return it every time, and this was no exception.

      “Yeah?”

      “I hope I get to see you on the podium with me. Tomorrow.” needless to say, _tomorrow_ was a half-truth. Tiago knew he meant beyond that, _years_ beyond. So he just smiled, snorting at the thought.

      “Sure, assuming my team doesn’t have me skinned for wasting _precious_ _points_ as a guest driver. Besides, everyone has a whole weekend of experience on this track over me.”

      “Are you saying you got lucky today?” the elbow jab on his left side was unexpected, but not unwelcome. Max had the weirdest ways to get his point across sometimes. He turned to his side against the sting, facing Max, shoulder leaning against the wall.

      “Sheesh, I suppose I _could_ be hoping for more. Our dearest title winner is a rookie, and who’s the kid going to Formula 1, again?”

      “I don’t know, but I heard he has a baby face and doesn’t even have a road license!”

      What little laughter there is between them is quickly shut and they’re left speechless. Tiago had done it, the idiot, brought up the topic they were willfully avoiding and now the air between them has grown uneasy again. However, whereas before they would get away with not saying anything, the adrenaline from the race is still burning down any inhibitions they usually would have, and again Tiago feels himself wanting to do _something_. The hand awkwardly scratching the back of Max’s head says it all, and Tiago feels himself grasping at answers, at the dense space in his skull that tells him nothing, _why_ repeatedly ringing in his head. Max is looking away and is clearly deciding on whether or not to say it. Or is he thinking about _what_ to say? He doesn’t know, but as he ponders over the whole situation (or tries to), his own private adage becomes louder and louder until it finally hits him.

      And it hits hard, like a crash in which you can’t help but wait until it’s over and see who’s the poor marshal rushing over to help you get out of the car. At that moment he loathes himself, wishes he could tear his uncooperative head and equally stupid heart out of their place and shape them into something he could _work_ with. If it were possible, he would run away from everything, be home in an instant and just wait out until the next season so he could get right back to racing and _only_ racing. His heart caves in when he decides what to do, both in this situation, and with the feelings he holds towards the Max, who still seems to be collecting himself.

      “Don’t.” the voice that escapes him nearly trembles, and Max catches on, immediately turning his head and watching him. It’s then Tiago realizes he was about to hurt him as well, both because he wouldn’t give him the chance to say whatever he wanted to, and with the ruleset he tried tying himself to. “You said it yourself, we’re competitors. If you go all the way, I have to follow.”

      Tiago crosses his arms and brings his chest out, trying to seem as resolute as possible in his assertion and Max returns a look contrary to his, through which he can feel himself melting. Max could see it, the painful way in which his friend succumbed to his fears and expectations, willingly disregarding him too. It was cruel, what they forced him to do in this situation, and what they meant not just for him or Max, but for _them_. While Tiago did his best to shut the part of him that wanted anything more than just being competitive in their world, Max is the one who’s still looking for the chance to say whatever it is he wants to. It feels awful how, despite having to look up at Max and being forced to watch him move even further up in the ladder, the taller one never looked down on him through any of it. Even though he was the one rising to the top, he wasn’t the one trying to pull them apart. They were rivals, but, for better or worse, they were equals too, and that was something Tiago was ready to throw away if only to keep them safe from whatever madness his feelings would surely bring into their lives.

      Max understands, or so he hopes, because they’ve been staring at each other like that for a while now until Tiago’s own expression turned into a pained one, whereas Max looked away, giving up.

      “Come on, we should get back.” a nod is all that Max comes up with, and they walk away and back to their respective teams.

      Just like that, it’s done, there’s nothing more to be said. It wasn’t wrong, it was part of who they are as drivers, as people who had standards to meet. Their aspirations didn’t leave space for much else, and because both understood that, they left it at that.

      Tiago knew: to go above and beyond he only needed to keep his head down and elbows out. The gap it left between him and others was negligible, mostly.

 

* * *

 

      The rest of the day seems to come by in slow motion, an alright qualifying session in the afternoon and talks of race strategy for the drivers in his team afterwards. Nothing out of the ordinary. Tiago can almost kid himself that all is fine going through the evening and into sleep.

      Of course, come Sunday, the bubbling anticipation of _the last day_ is still there. It intoxicates the air around the entire circuit, although history has already been written. Between him and Max there’s little more than an acknowledgement of their being there, and Tiago, initially reluctant over what _could_ be, leaves it that way. It was familiar, they had more to say, but wouldn’t, _couldn’t_.

      Both races end up being what one would expect from those of junior Formula: incidents, big shunts, a couple of safety car deployments, all the same. As much as he wants to say he did the best he could, there’s a sense of unsatisfaction after both races, eventually turned over by the celebration in Prema’s garage over having taken all three titles they could’ve. Apparently, his runs as a guest driver make Tiago the one to look out for next season, and it’s because of this that he gets some media attention, finally.

      Tiago usually walks back to the van with which the team drives him back to the hotel later into the evening after staying with them, but this time he went ahead and dismissed himself, taking the spare key. Maybe he could catch some sleep while he waited. At least that’s what he had in mind as he walked through the parking lot further back from the paddock while the sun drifted away over the west, looking up and around and breathing in the perfect mix of aromas one would usually find in a classical European track surrounded by forests. What little peace he finds in the imminent departure is interrupted by the sound of an ongoing argument, voices he immediately recognizes as those of Max and his father, immediately spotting them next to a car. He stops and looks around, doing his best to seem discreet in making sure no one’s noticed him and later hiding somewhere that wouldn’t get him in trouble were he found. He doesn’t intend to eavesdrop, after all he can’t understand Dutch, but he would feel too awkward walking next to them as though he was completely unrelated, and the car to which he had the key was only a few meters away from them. Besides, Jos would probably smite him with his eyes if he saw him within his son’s vicinity again.

      However, seconds turn into minutes and things intensify, and just as Tiago wonders at how no one seems to have come this way for whatever reason, Max finally speaks up, sparking more outrage from his father. What would’ve been a continuation of this is quickly shut by a loud slap that _stings_ his ears and leaves Tiago gaping.

      Jos gets into his own monologue and Tiago can see it again, the dark figure rising behind Max, forcefully taking him away amidst raindrops and shaky breaths. It’s an obscene thing to remember, only this time it’s offset by a beautiful sunset and what should’ve been a great season finisher. Sure, Max fell from second to third in the championship over the last couple of rounds, but what did it matter? Compared to the treatment he got from his parents - hell, taken at face value, how could one justify this? It made him angry just as much as it saddened him, and for years now he would have his own little ways of telling Max it was fine whenever anything of the sort happened or was about to.

      Initially, he was proud to hear Max talking back, but now came the consequences, and while the sound of Jos ranting at his own son still fills his senses, he can’t help but hope that it will be over soon. It does happen, eventually, and he hears loud footsteps storm off, leaving a single person behind. From the corner of his eyes he picks up Jos walking away, and soon enough only Max’s loud exhales fill the air around them.

_that’s it, champ_

      Finally, he finds himself relaxing in the situation. It would be fine, Max was nearly an adult and already a driver at the peak of motorsport. He would do well, Tiago was confident of it. Just as he looks down at his feet and sighs quietly, he hears a loud slam from the car behind him and a frustrated cry, and just like that, his mind goes blank. At that moment, every precaution and self-protective instinct was dropped out of the window. Even with what he said yesterday, and every other little thing, this was not something he could cast a blind eye over. Still looking down, fading sunlight in shades of purple and orange only slightly making its way over from his right side while lampposts lit his left with a bright white, he’s reminded of the same dream, of the pond through which he saw Max.

      It clicks in his head that, really, this was his chance to continue that dream. To give it meaning. Tiago doesn’t really know what he’s doing or is about to, but rolls with it, making his way around to Max and finding him leaning against the trunk of the car, resting his head on his hand, eyes closed as deep breaths surge from him. He doesn’t get the chance to think how best to approach him because Max immediately detects him, dumbfound as he looks back, only mouthing his name in shock. As Tiago walks closer, he simply looks away.

      “Max– hey, hey, Max.” there’s a tone of urgency in his voice he does everything to wipe away, trying his hardest not to spook him. Max doesn’t protest him being there but Tiago isn’t planning on entering his personal space until it’s alright to.

      “I was close by at that last part. Sorry about that.” Max doesn’t cede, still looking away. “Also, I don’t get Dutch.” he pulls a trying smile at that and chuckles, letting his head drop back down, tension slipping away from his shoulders. Tiago takes it as permission and gets closer.

      “You alright?” slowly, he places his left hand on the side of his shoulder, waiting for Max to tell him anything. Instead, he feels the skin beneath his hoodie press into his hand slightly, at which he only squeezed, giving Max the chance to fall a little more against the sensation before looking up.

      “Yeah.” of course, the answer had to be as seemingly void of meaning as the question itself, but Tiago relishes in how low his voice sounded. They stay that way for a while, looking at each other, Tiago having his thumb swing like a pendulum around Max’s shoulder. His look is absurdly open, and right now he is truly happy he gets to see this side of him. What little sunlight there still is brightens part of Max’s face, and he can see the puff red surrounding his eyes, which now make requests and ask questions he would never dare to. As Max is still leaning, he takes in how pleasantly he is level with him when it comes to height, finally. Tiago detaches his hand from Max’s shoulder and takes the car key out of his pocket, shaking it as it hanged from his hand.

      “Wanna sit down?” there’s a gap, and he can tell Max isn’t thinking about whether to accept the invite, but what to do through it.

      “Sure.”

      They walk past only a couple of cars until Tiago unlocks the minivan, then opening the sliding door on its side and looking back at Max. Rather than sitting in the car, he does so on the step one takes to climb onto the seats, leaned forward with his elbows on his legs, and looks back out, towards the rear and at the sunset. Tiago leans against the frame from which the door slides open and does the same.

      He really would prefer if it stayed that way, one last moment in each other’s company, nothing to be said, no anxieties towards the future, confidence that they have nothing to lose, but whenever Max looks back down at his hands and sighs, and every time a car passes by, lights and sound resetting their state of mind, the sensation that _this is it_ creeps further up his throat.

      “Tiago.” his heart skips a beat when he is evoked that way, and he does nothing but stare blatantly at the back of Max’s head until he turns, staring back. Tiago swallows at nothing when the blue orbs on Max’s face, given light by the lamppost behind them, seem to strike indiscriminately at his own. It would kill him not to give Max the chance to say whatever he wanted, so he gets down, sitting across from him, right foot on the step into the van and the other pressed against the floor. Max turns to him fully, sitting in the same position. At this point, he realizes he is at his mercy, intent on hearing Max out. His gaze is intense, decided on going through with it, but soft enough that Tiago can feel what little guard he still has going down.

      “What’s the matter with you?”

      “What do you mean?” initially, he feigns ignorance as Max is probably referring to what he said yesterday.

      “Don’t do that. Please.”

      A large breath escapes from Tiago and he looks out and at the sunset, then back at Max, who was still watching him closely.

      “I noticed, you know.” a resounding _shit_ runs through his mind at what Max is about to invoke. “I notice it every time I see you. You like to pretend otherwise whenever we talk, but you’re colder now, you- you try to be tougher.”

 _That_ left Tiago stunned, and right now he is all sorts of confused, memories coming to him in a rush, consciously trying to figure out how Max got a glimpse of him like that. Now he doesn’t know whether to be glad that Max didn’t immediately bring up their interaction yesterday or be flattered that he too had been paying attention.

      “Some time two years ago, you started to look more… _down_ than before. Maybe sooner, I dunno.”

      He would make a comment about that just being his face, but right now, with Max having gone the extra mile to bring it up, he feels as though it would be disrespectful to both of them, and at the same time the whole occasion has left him a bit overwhelmed.

      “I just want you to know, it’s fine, whatever it is. Just… don’t shut me out.” this time, it’s Max who looks away, embarrassed to have said that.

      The season is done and dusted, and they won’t be seeing each other for months, maybe years, but Max was now telling him this, and he wants to know why. The guilt from keeping himself away from Max like that when he cared so much, especially yesterday, strikes him deeply, and he has no option but to drop his shoulders and look down, breathing hard and bringing his hands up to his face, rubbing his eyes with the pad of his index and middle fingers. Tiago's ears pick up rustling and he feels the weight of the van shifting and upon looking back up, Max is staring into him once more, sympathetic eyes meeting his, only now he’s gotten closer, body turned to the outside of where they sat, leaving little space between them.

      And at that moment, Tiago wishes they didn’t have anything going on in their lives, that the world was theirs and that they could stay like that forever, the space and time they share an immeasurable comfort. He wishes he could wrap his arms around Max and have them both forget the circumstances they’re in, or that Max would wrap his arms around him, doesn’t matter. He wishes he could take Max’s hand and kiss him outright, no doubts in his mind.

      Finally, he admits in his head, openly, that he liked Max too much, at least way more than as a friend. Yesterday, he already had that realization, but immediately shut himself _and_ Max down. Now he was torn between keeping Max away from that, or saying the very least about what made him that way years ago. The look on Max’s face wasn’t demanding or eager, but understanding, and how could he say no to that?

      “Max-“ just as he starts, a wave of fear washes over him, and he doesn’t even know why it matters so much to him. He’s already tried coming out to close friends, and it (mostly) went right, was he that afraid of fucking up things between him and Max? Tiago closes his eyes, breathing hard and biting his bottom lip, and when he opens them, Max is still in that same position, only now his left hand is laid on the floor of the car next to Tiago’s thigh.

      “You don’t have to say it.”

      Tiago’s breath perfectly evens out at the sound of his voice, lower than he’s ever heard it. His head is emptied of thoughts, save for adoration, and he feels his heartbeat just below his throat while he tunnel visions on Max, Max _Max_. His right hand brushes over Max’s, who envelops it with his warmth. Still exchanging stares, Tiago sits straight up and leans closer to Max, eyeing every little detail in his face, from the raised eyebrows offset by passionate eyes and long eyelashes to the expectant lips over which he finally consciously noted the beauty mark. For a moment they stop to glance outside, making sure they’re safe and when they return their faces are only inches apart. There’s hesitation to their movement, giving each other a final chance to back off, and it’s quickly done for when Max squeezes his hand with his own. At this point, there was only a gap to close.

      Their lips meet, or partly so, because Tiago missed the mark by what feels like a mile, kissing Max on his upper lip and above. He immediately brings his free hand to his face, cupping his cheek and adjusting his head so his lips could better match Max’s. And when they do fit against each other, he takes in all the delight, the fullness of Max’s lips against his own. He shifts himself, sitting next to Max in a similar position to his, using the hand on his face to guide him through it while still throwing small kisses his way. He had already kissed a handful of boys, curious and playful pecks in locker rooms and behind buildings, none of them serious enough to have him consider them even temporary passions, but this was something else. There was a softness to it he never found anywhere else, a promise.

      As much as he would like to say that this is the best kissing he’s shared with others, the context threatens to sully the act. What should’ve been a perfect declaration of mutual caring and appreciation feels more like a salty mess, a goodbye neither of them ever wanted to have to say, a last, desperate attempt at something both knew could never work, not in this reality set so far apart from the one he experiences in Lisbon.

      Max seemingly picks up on the sentiment and deepens the kiss, turning his head and having their mouths crash into each other, teeth clashing in a clutter. His free hand pulled at the back of Tiago’s head, while he joined their hands closer, tighter, with the other. Tiago moans lowly over Max’s mouth against the feeling, allowing Max to take over until they broke off, gazes caught in their eyes and rushed breaths, all the hurt and longing both kept to themselves for that long having come out at perhaps the worst moment imaginable.

      It doesn’t leave them happy, not one bit, to have had a glimpse into something so deeply forbidden by their path as drivers into a world of unforgiving competition just as they were supposed to move onto a new phase in their lives. Now there’s nothing left for them, not a future that reflected this moment, or a friendship that could be kept in a professional manner years from now, if they ever were competitors on the same field, that is. Tiago retreats, eyes still fixated on Max’s, who detangled their hands, but left his palm over the back of Tiago’s own, allowing him to have those little fading moments of warmth.

      “Why do you make my life so hard sometimes?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, did you like how I desperately tried to tie as many past threads together as possible? 
> 
> I digress. I suppose I have a lot to go over. 
> 
> Firstly, I didn't expect the word count to get so out of control here, even though I had planned for this chapter to include all these scenes, 2k suddenly turned into 3k and then 4k. Whew. I was hoping to update last week to keep up the tempo but now, having thought better what I want for this story, and this chapter, I'm glad I didn't.
> 
> Finally, last night I left this just before their kiss, and god damn if the race today didn't make me want to immediately finish this. Funny enough it was in Hockenheim as well!
> 
> Feedback appreciated!


	5. it must be said

 

      Max remembers them well, those first years spent karting across Europe, so far away from home most of the time, starting in his early teens. They weren’t particularly exciting as they felt more like tests his father would conduct to see how many stopgaps he could place on Max while still having him win. It felt great when it worked out, an undeniable affirmation of his prowess, and although he would soon learn that car racing was, in fact, just like that (i.e.: a balancing act of thrills and control), it was sometimes frustrating having most other kids face him without any of those. They were good, most of them, but so was he, and he never bothered thinking whether that was a result of “talent”, of how he was basically raised racing or of how demanding Jos had always been of him, for it didn’t matter. Max was always told he was in karting only to hone his senses and to impress as many pro teams as possible so he could smoothly transition. It wasn’t just his father he had to please anymore, he had a bunch of sponsors from the Netherlands eager to see him perform and further their brand.

     And early into his career there were rivalries he could not shake off, for better or worse. Jos was the first to tell him to never let the others get any sort of advantage over him, and to always be ready to get the drop on them. Alex’s personality belied how phenomenal he was, and even now he’s glad the Thai driver graduated to Formula racing far earlier than he did, after all, it wasn’t easy trying not to let his disposition get through to him. He and Charles got on like water and oil, so there wasn’t much to think about besides beating him. Pierre was, well, Pierre, a nice Frenchman, and they got on easy. Tiago, however, was a whole lot of trouble from the get-go.

      From their first championship fight he had managed to stick close by, but whether Tiago won a race or not, he wasn’t completely satisfied with the result. Soon enough, Max realized Tiago had started to pick away at his habits, practicing his lines and seeing for himself what could be done with the stopgaps Jos regularly placed on him, save for the mechanical ones. At the end of the day, he had the luxury of racing him at his fullest, not quite going around the limitations Max had, but not letting himself be done in by extra assignments. It was infuriating how good he sometimes was, in spite of, in Tiago’s own words, not always having had the same coach, and not having a racing background in his family _at all_.

      Losing to him maddened Max far more than it did Jos, and seeing Tiago’s taunting gaze, asking him to go all out, was unbearable. Every time they raced and he could hear the kart buzzing behind him threatening a pass, he would be itching to take that extra bit of kerb, to assume a faster, sharper line and leave him in the dust, stopped only by the threat of another rant from his father. Somehow losing didn’t evoke his wrath as much as not limiting himself, but he understood why he was expected to race that way. However, heading into the later stages of a championship, and with a dwindling lead, his unease started to get the better of him, and what place to better shove your rival’s demanding smirk in than at his own turf, Algarve?  

      Of course, it wasn’t that easy, and as soon as the cards were on the table, he was surprised to see him keep up, as though he knew and was ready for it to happen. What ensued was a frantic battle beneath the scorching Mediterranean sun that nearly had him go into a trance and lasted for the remainder of the race, continuously exchanging the lead position, until Max just about pulled away in the final lap. For years he would reminisce over how they somehow always gave each other the right space, never spun or forced the other off-track. As demanding of his arms as the race had been, he felt absolutely refreshed stepping out of the kart, taking in the cheers from people around him in volumes he hadn’t heard in what felt like forever. Adrenaline _demanded_ him to walk over to Tiago, if only to see his dejected face once he got the crash helmet out of the way. What he didn’t expect was to find him in utter bliss, laughing as he took it off and placed it over his seat. Max couldn’t help but laugh as well, feeling powerless when his rival shook his hand with the other over his shoulder.

      “Man! Finally got you to a hundred percent, yeah?"

      “You weren’t too bad, yourself!”

      “Think you can keep it up?”

      “Sure, if my dad doesn’t kill me, first!”

      The exchange ended just like that, but on the podium, Tiago _wouldn’t stop staring_ once they were done with photos and smiles, a mix of smugness and approval on the bastard’s face.

      When he got the chance to talk to his father, he had the disapproving look and crossed arms he had seen coming, and, only having some idea of what he would do this time, the vivid fear of letting him down materialized, forcing him to look back at him as he always commanded whenever he was in such a mood.

      “[I won’t comment on how you raced, but I must say, you did a good job getting under his skin. He’s going nowhere, now.]”

      _[ok then, I guess I was panicking over nothing]_

      At the time, the claim had surprised him, as he was never one to play mind games. What followed up was an instruction to never race that way again unless he was told to, and he obeyed it, diligently sticking to whatever sort of regiment his father had for him in every track session. Tiago understood what happened then, continuing to race Max with _some_ degree of fairness, just as he always had.

      Over the next months and into the next racing season, however, the frustration he felt around Tiago never faded, even though they were on friendly terms most of the time, and soon enough he realized _he_ was the one who was losing out in the mental department, each loss earning him unrest which only led to a higher propensity for mistakes, and Max did everything he could to ignore the increasingly sympathetic looks his rival would shoot his way whenever he was about to suffer the consequences of one such.

      Ultimately, it all unraveled on a wet track, with Max crashing and ending his race, a small mistake that saw the entire weekend come undone in its later stages. He kicked away at himself while he was helped in getting the kart away from the tire barriers. He knew the storm would eventually come for him, so he just stood quiet on the side of the track facility, letting the rain fall against his cap.

      Time had gone on faster than he realized, because soon enough, Tiago was right there, looking over him in that same way. Max didn’t care to think whether he’d won, focusing solely on how Tiago saw him. Luckily, there was more than an arm’s length between them when Max spoke.

      “You’re not going to say anything? Just- stay there looking at me like that?” Tiago’s brows burrowed, still deep in contemplation over what to do or speak in the situation he finds himself in. Preemptively, Max raised his shoulders and head, looking down at him, at which Tiago only seemed to sharpen his gaze.

      “Don’t be an idiot. I just want to know how you’re doing.”

      “How _I’m_ doing?! Why the fuck do you care?”

      Whatever Tiago was trying to do, he was bad at it. Max could deal with many things, with many sorts of attention, but the person who was having him go through hell trying to sympathize with him? No way. Being told not to be an idiot about it didn’t help, either. Truth be told, he could understand it. And as much as he wanted to appreciate the effort, Tiago’s similarly thoughtful attitude being focused on him, he couldn’t. It was humiliating, having someone Max was supposed to beat trying to uplift him, even when sportsmanship came into play.

      “Well? That’s it? I don’t have all day.” _that_ hit a nerve. Tiago tensed up, clicking his tongue.

      “I need someone to force me to keep pushing. I’m not gonna watch you fall back and not do shit about it.”

      “ _Fall back_? I’m still leading the championship!”

      “I won the race, you’re only one second place off of-“

      “Max.”

      A shudder spread through the air around them, and only then did Max realize his breaths had grown shallow. He looked behind him, the opposite way from which Tiago came to find him, to find his father looking expectantly. Really, whatever he had earned from Jos was preferable to what Tiago was doing at that moment. Still frowning, Max switched his gaze back to Tiago, exhaling loudly when he noticed his counterpart had gotten a step closer.

      “I care. That’s it.” his stare didn’t drop, getting Max to pay attention for a moment longer, who matched him. He settled on his brown eyes, seeing for himself how daring Tiago would be, a silence between them only cut through by raindrops.

      “You don’t have to listen to him.” to say that Max was offended by that, despite the softness with which he spoke, was an understatement. Before he could stop himself, he pushed at his shoulder with just enough force to knock him back a couple of steps, seeing his eyes widen. Tiago could never understand how his father mattered to him, how important it was for him to learn from him, to not let him down and what the love they shared, as tough as it could be, meant; and yet, Max couldn’t help but soften his expression, even if only slightly, allowing mixed feelings to get in the way of words. 

      “Don’t you worry about me. We’re rivals.”

      Just like that, he turned, walking towards his father and readying himself for whatever was coming his way. By the time he was done thinking through what Jos had told him, what to do to recover and get ready for the next race (for the moment, anyway), his mind wandered back to their conversation and what they both said. Max wonders how he got through that exchange only having dropped a swear word once.

      It made sense how Tiago felt about him, how early on he might have developed a need for a baseline from which to measure his performances rather than having a father who tries to get every detail through to him. The comment Tiago made on Jos, for being so far out-of-line, was shut from his head soon enough. They got on well from there and soon enough it was all back to normal, just another rivalry that pushed them to new heights, except it didn’t upset Max anymore. The worried and kind looks didn’t stop coming, but Max didn’t mind. Hell, they grew on him, soon enough, and he allowed Tiago to turn them into little gestures he took as a comfort, taking his chances to give his own if the moment called for it, and because Tiago understood he was better off not bringing up things Max would rather not talk about, the only fights they had were due to track incidents. Jos often told him not to be so friendly with him and he only nodded and stated he wouldn’t, not at all intent on following his father’s instructions around the racetrack, for once.

      But in the next years, things changed, _Tiago_ changed. Max had assumed it was just puberty making itself known but it never stopped, and soon enough he realized that Tiago really was closing himself off more, becoming more private. He put great effort towards hiding it, and around Max it was as though nothing had changed, but he could tell. Eventually, whenever their eyes met, Max’s started mirroring the concern Tiago so many times had offered him, but because Max had told him not to get too close, he, in turn, never quite got the chance to talk to him about it, even through his obviously pained days.

      On their last year in karting, through all the chaos around the championships, and with the amount of testing both did with Formula teams across different cars and locations, Max really wanted to let him know what _he_ wanted, what he was really hoping to see become reality for both of them, but he couldn’t. Max never did find out what made Tiago like that. Eventually, they had become shut away from each other too, and heading into single-seater racing, they didn’t talk at all in the winter break, as though they were no more than competitors, and Max never knew where the other had ended up.

      Seeing him in Belgium, talking to him straight away, reading about his title win in Formula Renault, hearing he would be driving in the last two weekends of the championship he was in, it all delighted him. Max only wished to tell him those words before he moved on to Formula 1. Who knows, maybe it’s what he needed to hear, too; but every day it seemed more and more like it would never come. It almost happened in San Marino, and he was fine with it, confident he would get another shot in Germany. On that Saturday, however, it was as if Tiago had chosen to fully keep them apart, and it hurt Max, _a lot_.

      As much as their elementary grasp on English was a factor, Max had to be honest with himself, for he knew why his friendship with Tiago pained them both so much. They cared about each other, very much so, but allowed their feelings to trickle down into little gestures and banter, none of which were ever genuine enough.

      Really, they were just bad at voicing how they felt, too scared in the only world they shared away from home.

 

* * *

 

      “Why do you make my life so hard sometimes?”

      Of course, Max didn’t mean it. Not fully, anyway. But it was the sort of realization that hurt both, and Tiago, sitting on Max’s left side once more, hand below his own, had little to offer, only continuing to look at Max like he was losing him.

      “Sorry.”

      The apology was heartfelt, and although Max doesn’t know just how much weight from the last years he put into it, or whether he considered Max’s request just moments ago, it was one that hit hard, another reminder that kissing wasn’t the best way to make up for, well, everything. He wasn’t expecting Tiago to go for it when he told him he didn’t have to say it, but frankly, as soon as their eyes met with that intensity, Max went into autopilot and soon enough he found himself wanting more, deepening the kiss, feeling out the subtle hairs beneath his jaw, pulling at his head, tightening the grip on his hand. Now Max was just confused, he was already aware he had grown an attraction for boys, but being so much more into girls, or so he thought, he never took the time to ponder over it. He doesn’t even know what to think of Tiago now, but at that moment, it made a whole lot of sense why he didn’t want to move so far away from Tiago, even though the space they’ve ever shared was always in and around racetracks.

      It disturbed him, feeling so deeply about someone who hasn’t met him outside of racing, outside of their shared space, where even with their hands laced, they felt so far apart, the feeling certain to be unbearable when they were countries across from each other. The reputation Max earned suggested he was fair-minded and reasonable in person, but aggressive and uncompromising on track. What he didn’t expect was to find himself feeling the same way towards whatever he and Tiago had. Unsatisfied. All-or-nothing. He knew this, _them_ , could never work, so he just wanted to move on and wait out the next months until Formula 1 pre-season, away from this madness neither of them needed. It’s what everyone around him would want, including Tiago.

      His hand stood still over Tiago’s, occasionally brushing his knuckles with his thumb. For minutes now they sat that way, silently looking downwards and occasionally glancing at the other, sometimes wondering how no one has seen them yet.

      “Goodbye.”

      Max squeezed Tiago’s hand one last time, got up and walked to his left, leaving him just like that. He stopped when he heard rustling and his name desperately being called out, before an oppressive hand grabbed his left upper arm, at which his body froze. Every instinct in him told him to run away, to escape being tied down like this. The visceral fear he felt shook him to the bone and he had to keep himself from doing something he would regret, confused as to why he had reacted this way. Thankfully the grip around his arm had already lightened, accompanied by Tiago calling out his name again, this time in both concern and doubt.

      “ _Let go._ ” the severity in his voice was unintentional, and Tiago did so immediately. Taking a deep breath, he turned to face Tiago, in whose face he saw loss, saw who he was saying goodbye to, _what_ he was saying goodbye to, the sunset behind him now some shades darker. Max couldn’t help the frown he was pulling, intent on getting this over with.

      “Please. Let’s talk.” what little grip Max had on himself fell apart right then and there.

      “About what?! Yesterday, you said we were just rivals, and now you want to talk?! About what?! For what?! _This?!_ You’re fucking crazy if you think this could work!” Max looked between Tiago and the space between them, gesturing at whatever had become of them.

      “Max-“

      “Don’t _Max_ me, I never wanted any of this! I never _needed this. Fuck!_ ”

      The rage, the fear, the confusion, it was all too much, and Max took a step back and looked away from him, raising his hands over his face to rub at his eyes.

      They were done for, there was no way around that, but there was more he wanted to say, a single phrase he had decided on telling Tiago the moment he saw the key to the minivan hanging from his hand. It was the single best thing he could imagine himself saying to him, what he most wanted to express towards him ever since he heard his father burst with joy over Helmut being willing to give Max a seat in Toro Rosso the following season.

      “Tiago.”

      When he felt his gaze settle on him, Max let his arms drop once more, looking back with that same glare, hoping he would sound kind saying it, passionate at the very least. And with the look Tiago was pulling, fully paying attention to Max, considerate as he had always (or rather, mostly) been, he really wanted to make it all the way. Everything would’ve been way easier if he had said it earlier, before _that_ happened, and he was leading towards it at the time. The phrase, in all its simplicity, was perhaps the softest, most encouraging thing he had to say to his counterpart, but right now, with the storm going on inside his head, it was hard to focus on those words. Trying to catch himself, Max looked down one more time, exhaling and drawing cold air to his lungs, before looking back up, expression unchanging.

      Max told him what he wanted to, or so was his intention. What at another time would’ve been a perfect symphony of belief and confidence was muddied by the array of mixed feelings going through Max. The result was an exacting statement he uttered in a way that, at that moment, demanded no less than a similarly passionate frown from Tiago, which, to his credit, he managed to show, despite the hurt and the loss that still had him speechless. That was the last they saw from each other that day, and the remainder of the year.

      Not a word of it was wrong, either. Max was moving on to the peak of motorsport, leaving behind someone he knew could keep up with him at his best and make his life far harder than it needed to be. Both knew it was undeniably true, that there was only one way to make up for all those years having ended up in such an affront to them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's the first part pretty much done and dusted. Playing with perspectives has always been fun.
> 
> I just want to move on to their time together but one must include the years apart, yes? 
> 
> Regardless, I hope everyone reading this is enjoying the summer break!


End file.
